On the Lam
by RavenStyx
Summary: One's owned by a Mafioso. The other's dogged by the law. Rated M for mature themes, sexual content, violence and language. See inside for more detailed warnings. One-shot.


**Important Warnings:**

This one-shot will portray spousal abuse. It will have sexual content. It will have harsh language, graphic depictions of violence. **Very much rated M**. Please adhere to warnings. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, please, please, please don't read. Thank you for your interest, though.

 _ **On the Lam**_

The fluorescent tube light over Juvia's head buzzed loudly and flicked on and off, on and off so quickly, it was almost seizure inducing. It lit the bathroom poorly, but not much light was needed to see the filth in the nooks and crannies. It wasn't hers. She tongued the raised lump in her lip and corrected herself: it never used to be, but now it was home. The previous owner 'flew the coop' Jose said.

What he said and what he meant were two different things. Juvia saw the man's body beaten and bloody in the dumpster when she was carrying a duffle of their clothes in around the back of the building. She thought then that was a stupid place to hide a dead man. That was before Jose set fire to it, using a hot and fast-burning accelerant she didn't know the name to.

No one asked any questions, so they never had to tell any lies. No one _cared_ that a fire burned as long as it didn't take down the building, no one _cared_ where that man went. The only thing anyone seemed to care about was paying the boss and keeping their heads down so the same didn't happen to them. Jose never fucked around. When he made a threat, he made good on it.

Juvia squeezed the scrubby in her hand. It was blue and rough on her skin, really digging in with the vinegar she used to try to scratch out the filth the apartment's previous owner left behind. She kept her eyes to the small sink before her and scrubbed, scrubbed, scrubbed until a bit of the yellow-encrusted calcium flaked away. Beneath was white porcelain.

"Juvia!"

She jolted hearing her name out of his mouth.

"Juvia!"

She swallowed twice to make her throat work. "Yes?"

"Aren't you finished in there?"

"Almost, Jose."

She heard his footsteps and knew he was coming to make sure she wasn't lying. Juvia's heart pounded. She scrubbed harder. The door was pushed open slowly. Jose had lost some layers, taking off his dark jacket and the orange collared dress shirt. Now he stood in a black tank top that clung to his wiry frame and a pair of jeans slung low on his hips. The black lipstick he'd smeared on his mouth was faded, his eyeliner smudged. He leaned on the door jam, beer bottle clutched in his many-ringed fingers and watched her like a hawk. "You're a little liar, Juvia."

Yes, she was. She'd barely started. There was still blood on the floor and in the bathtub, compliments of the last owner, and needles thrown in the corner beside the toilet, a pile that was coated in dust and filth. She pressed her lips together and looked at Jose through the spotted gilded mirror.

He came into the bathroom like she feared he would and grabbed her by the shoulder. His hands were long-fingered and strong. He pulled her around so she could look into his pit-like eyes. He'd been using, the wide, crazed look in his eye was a dead giveaway. "The last girl that lied to me, I cut loose."

Juvia met his eyes, afraid to look away. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"Then why would you say it?"

"I just—" _Just what?_ She didn't know.

"What?"

Juvia squeezed the scrubby again, vinegar running over her fingers, burning her skin and her nose. _Say something_. She didn't have anything _to_ say. _Apologize?_ Her tongue wouldn't move around the words. The sink dug into her back, cold through her thin blue dress.

His hand came up quick, the open handed slap leaving behind a sting. It wasn't the worst pain she'd ever felt. It was still _shocking_ though.

He grabbed her chin and made her look up again. "When I picked you up off the streets, I looked at you and I thought _'that's going to be a brazen bitch_ '." Spittle flew from his lips and landed on Juvia's cheek. "Did you know that?"

It was a story she'd heard before.

"But then I thought easy, Jose, you got something this girl needs, you can take her home and make her into a _good girl_. And I did. I brought you in, Juvia. I gave you food, I gave you clothes and I gave you a bed. Say thank you, Jose."

All she could say was, "You hurt me." Her mouth was bleeding again from that last time she questioned him.

His mouth curled up meanly. "Hurt you? That slap? You think that hurt?"

She swallowed the blood.

"I think you don't know what that means, Juvia. You want me to show you?"

He slapped her again, fast and hard before she could say a thing.

Juvia couldn't even suck in a breath.

"What about that one? Hurt? How about this?"

She was looking at the floor so she saw his other hand curl around the knife at his hip. It came up, aimed at her face. Her reaction was automatic. She let her knees take her to the ground beneath the blow. Jose lurched away from the door, off balance. Juvia scuttled on all fours, doubly fearful now. Jose didn't like it when she ran away from her punishment.

The only things for it were to either turn back and apologize or run further and faster. Filthy carpet left rug burn on her knees. _Your running?_

Apparently.

Jose's voice ripped out of the bathroom. "Get back here you fat slut."

Juvia looked back over her shoulder, unable to help herself. Jose was in the doorway, back on his feet and looking mean. While he still clutched his knife, there was something in his other hand, too: a porcelain toothbrush holder. It flew and caught Juvia on the shoulder. She barely felt it, too focused on Jose coming out into the hall, using his long legs to his advantage. He was closer than she liked in less time than it took to blink.

Juvia scrabbled to her bare feet and tore through the dark and narrow hallway, following it to the first place she could think of: the bedroom. Jose was hot on her heels, cussing and swinging with his knife. Twice he almost got her, the blade just barely skimming over her skin. Juvia's erratic dodging that had more to do with luck than skill kept her from being split anew.

A huge crash made Juvia look over her shoulder again. Jose had tripped over his own feet, clumsy when he was so high. She counted her lucky stars and used the seconds to get herself into the room. She slammed the door between them.

"You fucking _bitch_ ," Jose yelled. He was back on his feet and lumbering on again.

 _Now what?_ There was no lock on the door. _Your trapped, you stupid, stupid girl_ , Juvia berated herself. She spun around, taking in the grimy room with its unmade bed and piles of clothes that mice had made homes out of, the dirt encrusted floors. There was the window, it was so small, though. She knew she'd never fit out of it, her hips were thirty-two inches and the window was twenty-six. She'd checked the first night they'd moved in because he locked her in here for _hours_ and she'd entertained running away. Never mind that it was a three storey drop to the ground below.

Jose hit the door with his body before he figured out how to open it. Juvia had seconds. In fight or flight, she saw her salvation in the form of a bat Jose kept beside the bed for _just in case_. She sprang for it. It wasn't the first time it'd touched her skin. It was the first time she wanted it to, though. Its wooden handle was worn smooth by Jose's hands; the tip was missing huge chunks of wood. It was stained dark, dark brown with dried blood.

She hefted it just as the door opened and Jose stepped through. He looked like the devil himself shadowed against the bathroom light at the end of the hall. Juvia's heart squeezed. What frightened her most was that she couldn't see his eyes. His fingers flexed around his favorite knife.

"You planning on hitting me with that, Juvia?"

Somehow she found the breath to talk. "Don't come any closer."

He did anyway, stepping into the room past the clothes and the dresser and the bed. Juvia sweated. Her breath came in short puffs.

Jose said, "You better hit hard, slut, because you're only getting one chance, then you're really gonna know what hurt feels like."

He lunged.

Juvia took his advice.

He stopped moving after the sixth swing.

She kept on for another half dozen, _just to be sure._

* * *

Cover-up hid a myriad of things. Bruises and scars just to name a few. Juvia was meticulous in that dingy bathroom by the light of that flickering fluorescent tube. She covered the bruises beneath her eyes, those left both by sleepless nights and stress and fists. She covered the bruises on her arms. She even covered the ones on her stomach, trying not to think of Jose's ' _fat slut_ '.

"That was his favourite," she murmured.

A tremor tried to take her.

She put on lipstick. And eyeliner. Dark, dark mascara. And then put product in her hair to catch the curls and keep them from going limp. Finally, she stripped off her blood-dotted dress and pulled on a black one in its place. Finished, she looked in the mirror. She looked just like someone else.

* * *

She looked like a queen of disaster through the foggy glass of a tumbler full of scotch, put together but not like a cup that just came out of a kiln, but like one that had fallen to the floor and had been glued back together. Still beautiful and delicate, but jagged. She flitted from table to table, looking for someone or something. People looked at her, men, women. They turned her away. Her frustration was mounting.

Then her eyes locked on his.

 _Here we go,_ Gray thought. He put on a hard face and found somewhere else to look. She came to his table anyway and sat down across from him. She had a drink clutched between her two red hands. The skin on her knuckles was raw and chapped. It looked painful.

"I don't know you." Her voice came out strong even if it was laced with uncertainty.

"Nope," Gray said.

"This is a small town. Are you new or passing through?"

He looked, though he told himself not to. She was attractive with her almond like eyes and full lips and soft sloping nose, her freckle-dusted cheeks, just like he thought. For all of that, there was a ghost in her. "Passing through."

A spark of life came to her haunted eyes. "Will you take me?"

"To where?" he asked warily.

"The next town over, the one after."

"You don't even know which way I'm going," he pointed out.

"Doesn't matter," she replied. "I just need to get out."

He had a policy not to pry. It was a good one. It had _worked_ , kept him safe and off the radar. His stupid mouth moved anyway. "Are you running from something?"

She dodged the question. "Will you take me?"

"That's a big, ' _yeah, I'm running from something_.' And by the looks of things, it's a big load of ' _I don't want to get involved_.'"

Her lip wobbled once before she toughened up. "So you won't take me?"

"No, thanks, lady. I don't need anymore shit in my life."

She didn't beg like he thought she might. She stood and moved on her way. He watched her full hips sway between the narrow tables, wondering what made a girl look hollowed out like that.

There were too many answers to bother prospecting. Gray busied himself with finishing off the rest of his scotch. He'd just smacked the glass down on the table when the waitress came by and handed him another. He didn't have the cash for it, but it'd be like the other dives he'd moved through. Smile nice, get in good with the girls, drink them dry and move on to the next town. His bar tab was well into the hundreds.

"You'll want to stay away from that one." The woman pointed to Gray's prior tablemate.

"And why's that?" The words were out before he could find his apathy.

The waitress said, "She belongs to Jose; he'll break anyone's fingers that touch her."

"Yeah?"

"It's not worth it, sweetie," she said.

It rarely, rarely was.

* * *

Under the guise of going for a smoke, Gray pulled his leather jacket on his body and made for the exit. The familiar garment smelled like cigarettes, booze and blood. Like his old man and his Chevy's tired fabric seats. It was the last thing he'd taken from his ruined home and it would probably be the one thing he kept with him until he died. Except maybe his dad's cross. The old man was religious. Praying on his knees for forgiveness didn't catch Gray's fancy, how could it when he'd chosen the path to sinner, but he wore it anyway. Sentimental, he supposed.

Really, he was too drunk to pull his keys from his pocket and drive to the next motel. He couldn't stay where he was, however, it wouldn't be long until he was tracked here, too.

In the parking lot, he found the girl with the blue hair again. She stood surrounded by a group of men, her arms clutched around her body. She looked scared, but also determined. "I'll—I'll do anything."

One of the men laughed and said something lewd. Gray had heard worse. Hell, he'd _said_ worse and done worse. To girls who wanted worse done to them. This one—she wasn't smiling, she wasn't flirting, she wasn't being brazen. She was an animal backed into a corner, bartering anything she had to barter to get out of town.

 _Just keep on walking,_ he thought as he passed them.

"You'd have to be a pretty filthy bitch to convince me to get you out," said one man. He kept going, listing a slew of things he wanted her to do, all worse than the last.

Gray opened his truck door; it took two tries to get the key in the hole. His mother would skin him for driving like he was, but she wasn't around to scold him so he acted like he didn't know what she'd say. The truck started on the second try; the engine purred beautifully. In the wash of the yellow-tinged headlights, the girl and her potential allies came into illumination. The man that had come at her with a list of demands now had his hands on her body, feeling everything she had to feel. She had her lips pinched together and her eyes closed.

 _Praying,_ Gray thought. He put the truck in drive. And then just sat there. The man grabbed his dick. And then he started fucking with his zipper. He wouldn't be the first to get an impromptu blowie in the middle of a trashy bar parking lot with his friends standing around, laughing like fucking idiots.

 _Keep going._ _You heard that waitress. You don't want to be involved._ He took his foot off the brake and pulled out of his spot.

One of the men in the group pulled the girl's skirt up. She grabbed it and tried to force it back down again; her eyes were open now and there was fury in them. She spat out something Gray was sure was rude. The man fussing with his cock grabbed her by the shoulder and started to force her down.

"Oh, for fuck _sakes_ ," Gray muttered. He coaxed his truck toward the group, not as careful as he could be, putting the front wheel in a pothole so big, it almost swallowed the tire to the fender. It came back out with a whine of the springs. The group's attention fell on him as he put the truck close to the lot of them and rolled down the window. The blue haired girl's eyes fell on him, hope overcoming her. It was sort of pathetic and heartbreaking, honestly. She looked like a whipped dog.

"Still want that ride?"

"Shove off," said the man with his pants more than half undone.

Gray reached over the bench seat and opened the truck door. "Get in. Hurry up."

She stepped toward him. One of the men grabbed her arm and kept her there. "We're taking care of her. Go on."

Gray knew their kind. Short on patience, he reached into his back seat and grabbed out his show-stopper. The shotgun was as old as he was, a pump action twelve gauge that had taken down its fair share of game.

As soon as the men saw the barrel's metal gleaming in the truck's dome light, they dropped the girl's arm and scattered like exposed ants. Soon it was just Gray and the girl and the smokers lounging around the back of the bar who hadn't been privy to their altercation.

The girl stared at the gun. She was scared, but not like she'd been before.

Gray dropped the gun back into its window rack and said, "Are you coming or what?"

She came to the door in jagged steps. She was so slow, Gray almost drove off without her. Stubbornness was the only thing that kept him where he was. He'd taken the time to intervene, he'd be fucked if it was for nothing.

Finally, the girl was close enough to bend and look into the truck. She almost spilled out of her tight black dress; her eyeliner was smudged, her lipstick faded.

"I'm—"

"I don't want to know your name," Gray said. "Just get in."

She bit her lip hard. "Are you a psycho?"

He only stared at her.

Noise coming from the side of the bar made her jolt.

"In or out," Gray said. "I'm tired."

She got in and closed the door behind herself. Her scent filled the truck. Hairspray and a scent he knew all too well. "Do you use?"

"Pardon?" she asked.

"Drugs. Do you have drugs on you? Meth?" The last thing he needed was to get busted for a DUI _and_ get hit with a possession charge on top of everything else if the cop was feeling prickly.

"No."

"You're rank." And dopy. Maybe she was strung out. She didn't seem like she was high, though, at least not on anything he recognized.

She rubbed her hands on her dress. "I'm—it's not from me. I promise. I'm clean."

Gray looked her over one more time. Maybe she was telling the truth, she looked like the kind of girl that was a shitty liar. "Alright." He got the truck into drive again and slowly started pulling out of the dirt and gravel driveway.

The girl asked, "Should you be driving?"

"We're not going far."

"Where are we going?"

"There's a room at Pine Beach with my name on it," Gray said.

"Pine Beach is a motel."

Sure was. "I'm crashing and heading north in the morning. Stay or come, makes no difference to me."

"I'll come," she said.

Gray put his truck on the highway and focused on staying in the lines. He didn't try to make conversation and his passenger didn't, either.

* * *

Pine Beach wasn't near as nice as it sounded. It had a tiny office and a single line of rooms backing against the highway. The transports were loud, but Gray was tired enough he didn't think it was going to be a problem. He went in and got a room with a queen mattress, used a fake name and paid cash. He'd switch licence plates in the next town; it'd be safer just to ditch the truck, he _knew_ it, yet he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it. He and his dad had rebuilt it from scratch; it had been the project that had kept them together through his teens when _everything_ seemed to be fucked.

No, the Chevy would get sandblasted and a new paintjob. She'd have her VIN scratched out. She'd get new licence plates whenever he could swing it. But he wouldn't get rid of her. Maybe it'd be his undoing.

The girl was leaning against the truck's hood when he came back out. Her black dress was caught and pulled by the growing breeze. She didn't look so much like the cowering girl surrounded by bullying men waiting to take advantage of her; she looked like she could be something more, if she was allowed to be.

Summer's first thunderstorm let loose its first raindrop; it hit Gray on the cheek, cool and slightly sobering. He stopped looking at her. "This way."

She followed him to room number one. He had more luck getting the key in this lock. Inside was just as unimpressive as Gray thought it would be. It was small, with a reclining turquoise chair, a bed made with faded red sheets, (it looked more like a double than a queen. He wasn't going to squabble) an ancient tube TV and a bathroom right off the bedroom. Beside the burnished—yet scratched—headboard were twin nightstands. The one on the right was the only one with a lamp on it. Gray moved through the room as the girl closed the door and flicked it on. He almost thought it wasn't going to work, the bulb flick, flick, flicked before steadying out.

Outside, the sky gave into the storm. Rain began to fall heavily. Gray took off his coat and threw it on the bed, then worked on his tan work boots. At this level, he was able to see his roommate's shoes as well. they were tall pumps, well made for a girl that smelled like methamphetamine. So was her dress for that matter.

 _Shouldn't have gotten involved,_ Gray thought again as he deciphered what that meant.

"I don't have any money," she said.

Gray straightened. "I didn't ask for any, did I?"

"What do you want?"

He paused unbuttoning his shirt and met her eyes. "What makes you think I want anything?"

"Everyone wants something."

"To go to sleep. To wake up tomorrow with my wallet and my smokes and my truck. For you not to stick a blade in my throat at night," Gray said.

The girl wrung her hands together. "I'm not a thief."

"Yeah, I don't know that, do I?" He went to the washroom before she could reply. It was just as small and shitty as the room, poorly lit and dirty, the sink's faucets tarnished, the toilet's porcelain yellow, the bathtub—well, there was a lot wrong with the bathtub.

"No shower here," Gray muttered, looking at the hairs caught in the soap scum along the bathtub's rim. He pissed and washed his hands, then his face, wetting his hair, too.

Coming out again, he saw the girl had curled herself up on the recliner, making herself small. She'd taken off her shoes and used her coat as a blanket of sorts.

"Bed's big enough to share."

She looked up from where she'd been staring into the darkened world, watching lightning flash across the sky. That wariness was back in her eyes. Gray wasn't going to bother saying anything else, let her be cold and uncomfortable—it wasn't like the bed was going to be much better, it looked lumpy and hard—he'd already established he was stupid, though. "I don't know what you came from before, but I won't make you do anything you don't want to do."

She went back to staring out the window. Gray sighed and tugged off his pants. He didn't look to see if she stared, red cheeked and scared. He climbed beneath the sheets, turned off the light and turned away from her toward the far wall.

Long silent minutes passed. Gray's eyes were starting to close when he heard her get up and pad over to the washroom. She closed herself inside. Water ran and splashed, she sniffled. When she came out again, she was in the thin black shift she'd been wearing beneath her dress. It tugged tight on her curves. Gray looked and looked at her standing in the washroom's doorway, telling himself not to and doing it anyway.

"Do you like the way I look?" she asked.

A fool would say no.

She saw the answer on his face. She came closer to the bed, dropping her clothing on the floor beside it and put her knee on the mattress next to Gray's chest. Sensing what she had in mind, Gray said, "I told you I didn't need anything from you. I won't ask you to do the stuff those guys were."

She hesitated. "Yes."

"Just… lie down and go to sleep."

She still just sat there, hands curled in the hem of her shift.

"What?" Gray asked.

"You're a nice guy. It's been a long time since I've been with someone nice."

 _Nice?_ If only she knew the truth. "Maybe your bar's just set low."

She touched his chest. Gray grabbed her wrist and held her loosely, stopping the tease of her fingers on his skin. The girl said, "I thought you liked the way I looked?"

He searched her eyes. Gray still didn't know what he was looking for or if he'd found it when she bent and pressed their mouths together. She tasted like her drink—long island if he remembered. Her lips didn't quiver. Maybe this was a snap decision. She didn't think twice about it, however, and really, recently, Gray had been living beneath the philosophy of _why the fuck not?_ Chances were, his days as a free man were numbered.

She deepened the kiss when Gray let her, puffing gently and feeling his chest again. Her fingers got stuck in the old bullet wound on his shoulder, that puckered and white skin. She pulled back enough to look at it, then moved on, kissing his neck instead of asking questions. Gray rolled on his back and let it happen, stopping her only as she approached his hips so he could reach into his bag and pull out a condom. Though his days may have been numbered, there was no reason to cut them any shorter by having to check into the hospital with a bad case of syphilis.

The girl saw what he was fussing with and took it from his hands. She palmed and kissed his body, drawing nearer and nearer, pushing the sheets aside as she went. Gray closed his eyes and rode out a shiver caused by her nip through his shorts. She teased, kissing and biting through the material for long enough that he thought he would go crazy.

"Fuck," he swore. That seemed to be the trigger she was waiting for. She pulled his shorts down, grabbing his erection and stroking him thrice. Then she tore open the condom package and rolled it over his body expertly. Her lips landed on the tip. They were warm. Gray imagined what they'd feel like without the latex barrier between them. It was its own kind of torture, one that had a kind of relief. Her mouth locked firmly around him, her tongue caressed his shaft, then she was sucking slowly, laboriously, thoroughly.

Gray locked his hands behind his head and lifted himself high enough that he could watch this girl whose name he didn't know do what he never asked. He tried to see through her motives. Maybe she wanted to lull him into comfort and rob him as he suggested. Maybe she couldn't pay, as she said, and thought this was a good way to make amends even after he told her not to bother. Maybe she just had a bad day and wanted to work out some frustration. When it came down to it, he didn't want to ask because asking meant getting invested. It didn't matter if it was a lot or a little; even a penny had worth and he was feeling like a cheap bastard these days.

Her breasts pushed into his legs. Gray gathered her hair to the side and watched this stranger pleasure him. He was harder than stone and didn't think he could get any stiffer.

That was until she released him and tugged her shift's shoulder straps off her shoulders and pushed it down below her breasts. Her skin was milk-white and warm against his. She gathered her breasts together and took him deep, deep into her mouth, moaning and puffing. Gray got harder again. He closed his eyes and listened, not too hard because then he could hear the people two rooms over screaming, but enough.

She sucked until he pulsed on her tongue, close, then came away and climbed up his body. Her shift got caught on her wide hips. Gray lifted it and helped her straddle him. She took him inside and tried to get right to work; he stopped her, finding the bud between her legs and massaging it. She was wet and slick and undeniably surprised to feel his hands on her body. And wasn't that a shame? She was the kind of girl that he liked to touch, full and soft and loud when she got to moaning. He drew clockwise circles and lifted himself enough to take one of her pert nipples into his mouth. Her skin tasted like salt and iron. He liked that, too.

Her moans turned frantic in minutes; Gray felt her tightening on his cock and worked his thumb faster, arched his hips, finally moving. He buried himself to the base half a dozen times before she let go and came and had to close his eyes and slow so he didn't do the same. She squeezed on him like wet velvet; his cock was soaked.

She rode out the orgasm, milking it for all it was worth before she finally sat back, drawing her breasts away from Gray's greedy tongue. Gray leaned back, locking his hands behind his head again. The girl straightened her spine and spread her legs wide, exposing herself. She grabbed her knees and started to rock. Gray helped out when she showed signs of tiring by taking her by the thighs and holding her up while he slammed into her. She came twice like that. She was building up to a third when he came. If she was disappointed, she didn't say a word. She sat with him inside her while she clutched her elbows and caught her breath. Eventually, she went to the washroom to get cleaned up. Gray rolled off the condom and dumped it in the garbage beside the bed, then used Kleenex to finish the job. The girl came out again.

"I'm not paying you," Gray said. Maybe he was crass.

She hesitated. "I'm not asking for payment."

Good. He laid back as she came to the bed in hesitant steps. Watching her, he imagined what those truncated movements meant: she expected him to turn her away or to yell or to call her something nasty? Or maybe she just realized that he was still a stranger, a stranger with a shotgun in his truck and a bullet wound on his chest that was just 'passing through' her town.

He rolled over and closed his eyes. Let her do what she wanted, think what she wanted. Her weight dropped into the bed beside him. She turned over so they were back to back. They were quiet.

Gray was almost asleep when she whispered, "Have you ever hit anyone?"

It was a strange question. He answered honestly. "No one that didn't deserve it."

"A girl?"

"…No."

"Because you didn't find any that deserved it?"

"What kind of question is that?" Gray asked, less sleepy and more irritated. She flinched at the harshness in his voice. Gray made it go gentle. "No one's beating anyone. Just go to sleep."

"Good night," she said eventually.

Gray didn't respond.

* * *

The sound of the TV talking quietly woke Gray from a deep slumber. He looked through bleary eyes and saw the girl sitting on the end of the bed, her thumbnail trapped between her teeth. She stared raptly at the screen, looking at a picture of his face.

Gray closed his eyes again, wondering what now. She knew he was awake, had felt his shifting.

"You're a criminal."

"Yeah." His voice was hoarse with sleep, dry from the booze and muffled by the musty pillow he stuffed over his head.

"The lady says you killed a man named Del."

"Yeah," Gray said again.

She asked, "Are you going to kill me?"

Gray pulled up the pillow to look at her. She didn't _seem_ all that scared. "Did you gun down my family and put me in the hospital for two months?"

"Is that what that scar is?" she asked, looking at Gray's chest. "A bullet wound?"

"Yeah."

She turned more properly in the early morning light, allowing her bruised face and arms to be seen. Hollowly, she said, "Some men deserve to die."

"Yeah," Gray said two heartbeats later. "They do."

She got a crazy, watery smile. "My boyfriend was a Mafioso. He beat me. I killed him with a baseball bat and stuffed him in the closet. He's been there for a day."

It was so ludicrous, Gray laughed. When he sobered, he asked, "What's your name?"

"Juvia," she responded.

"Gray."

Her fingers curled in the blankets. "My granny used to tell me about a little French town on the boarder," she said. "Low-key."

Gray sat up and reached for his truck keys. "Sounds good to me."

* * *

Um. Hm.

This is the weirdest, most fucked up broken story I've ever written. I do apologize. For the roughness and the ugliness.

Thanks for reading anyone that made it to the end. You are, as they say, _magnifique._


End file.
